9-11-01
by Joe G
Summary: I had to write this, if only to move on. I didn't write anything for a few months until I wrote this. It's not set in any kind of continuity or anything. Let me know what you think.


Keystone City. September 11, 2001. 8:42 AM.  
  
"THIS IS THE POLICE! WE HAVE THE BUILDING SURROUNDED, RELEASE THE HOSTAGES AND COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP!"  
  
The officer lowered the bullhorn and set it on the hood of his car. Around him, roughly 50 other policemen and women stood, firearms drawn and aimed. They were waiting. Waiting for the man inside the bank to come out, or to show his face and give the sharpshooters a clear shot.  
  
The man inside the building's name was Jonathan Birchbaum. A former investor in a very profitable e-company, Birchbaum had lost all of his money when the company unexpectedly crashed. He tried to find a job somewhere in Keystone, even traveling across the bridge to Central City in search of work; He found none.  
  
Having lost his new home and car to repossession, Birchbaum lived on the streets for a few weeks. One night he found a gun in a dumpster while rummaging for food. The gun had three bullets in it, and Jon reasoned to himself that he wouldn't have to fire the weapon, just use it to scare people into giving him what he wanted. He held up some people on the street, taking their money and pawning their valuables. Eventually, though, he got greedy. He took his gun and his three bullets and he decided to rob a bank. Who would stop him?  
  
The police? They could try.  
  
The Flash? He was probably in outer space saving the universe or something. Birchbaum figured he was too small chips for the fastest man alive anyway.  
  
That's what he figured, anyway.  
  
The voice came from outside again, and Birchbaum's face became tight. "YOU HAVE ONE MORE CHANCE! LET THEM GO AND COME OUT!"  
  
"You should do what they say, Jon."  
  
The armed man whirled around to see a crimson-costumed man leaning against one of the teller's desks. The man wore yellow boots. Around his waist and wrists were yellow lightning bolts, and across his chest was another lightning bolt, bursting out of a white circular field. On his head he wore a red mask with yellow wing-type devices over his ears. The man's name was Wally West.  
  
He's The Flash.  
  
Birchbaum felt himself lose control over his bodily functions. He stared at the hero, with a blank look on his face. The Flash lowered his mask and strode towards the would-be bank robber. "C'mon now, Jon. This isn't what you want, is it? You don't want to hurt these people. Why not let them go?"  
  
Birchbaum swallowed hard and looked at the people sitting on the floor behind him. He mustered up all of his courage and looked back at The Flash. "But if I let them go, then what's keeping the police from storming the building and arresting me or killing me?"  
  
Wally smiled. "Nobody wants to kill you, Jon. They want to help you. I want to help you, but you have to help me first."  
  
Jon lowered his head and began to sob.  
  
"Y'know, I was once in your position," Wally continued. "Financially, that is. It's actually pretty funny, now that I think about it. I'd won the lottery, and the IRS pretty much raped the money away from me. I'd spent so much of it that I ended up in debt up to my eyeballs, but I got out of it. That's where you've got a leg up on me, Jon. You don't owe the IRS anything. Not a penny. The only person you owe anything to is yourself. You owe it to yourself not to do this, Jon."  
  
Wally walked up next to the crying man and put a hand on his shoulder. He spoke in a calm, friendly tone.  
  
"Let them go, Jon. If not for them, then for yourself."  
  
Birchbaum looked up at the scarlet speedster. He wiped his eyes and sighed heavily. "Alright." He turned to the people on the floor behind him. "Get outta here."  
  
As the people passed him, they thanked Wally for saving their lives and Jon for letting them go. They exited the front door of the bank, leaving only Jon and The Flash inside. The police addressed him again. "THAT'S GOOD, NOW PLEASE, COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP."  
  
Wally looked at Jon, who was shaking. "Relax, Jon. You did a good thing today. The police want to help you, but you have to let them help you, alright?"  
  
Birchbaum nodded, and the two men walked out of the building, Wally in front of Jon. Wally led him to a squad car, where he was cuffed and put into the back seat. "Bye Jon," Wally said as the car pulled away. He heard something that sounded like his name coming from behind him, but it was very faint. He realized it was the earpiece transmitter in his mask. The voice was shouting at him. "Wally, Goddammit, can you hear me? WALLY!!"  
  
The fastest man alive put his mask back on. "Dick, what is it?"  
  
Nightwing was frantic. "You HAVE to get to a TV, Wally, FAST."  
  
Seconds later, Wally was in the DCAF Watchtower. He hurried into the monitor room. There sat Nightwing, Robin, and Green Arrow, all staring intently at the screen. They turned as they heard Wally enter the room. "Geez, Dick, what is it?"  
  
Wally stepped behind the chair his best friend was seated in and looked up at the screen. Nobody said anything.  
  
  
  
Outside Gotham City. September 11, 2001. 8:57 AM.  
  
A shadowy figure sat in a chair in front of a large computer console located in a huge cave. Eight screens surrounded the man, who was looking specifically at the one directly in front of him. On the screen was a projection of a piece of black fabric. The man spoke aloud.  
  
"Computer, trace any chemicals found on specified cloth."  
  
"Analysis indicates the presence of large amounts of sodium chloride and dihydrogen monoxide."  
  
The figure sat back in his chair. "Salt water."  
  
"Computer, check status on any aquatic-based criminals or metahumans. List any which are currently active or unaccounted for."  
  
On the screen, files flipped at amazing speed. Finally it stopped. "Search has brought 1 result."  
  
The man closed his eyes and sighed. "Computer, send the following satellite message to Atlantis. Record now: Arthur, this is Bruce. Your brother is running drugs in Gotham with the help of The Penguin. I'm fairly busy right now, but if you need any help, you know where to find me. End recording."  
  
The computer hummed for a moment, then the noise stopped. "Message sent."  
  
The Batman stood from his seat. He removed a long, black cape from his back and hung it on a stand that stood next to the console. The dark knight made his way back to his seat and sat again in front of the computer. "Computer, open fi-"  
  
"Master Bruce!"  
  
Batman looked away from the computer towards the large staircase which led up to Wayne Manor. Down the stairs rushed an older man in a tuxedo. "Alfred!"  
  
Bruce rushed over to the man he'd known his entire life. As Alfred reached the base of the stairs, he tripped. Bruce caught him and helped him regain his footing. "What is it, Alfred?"  
  
The man-servant rushed over to the computer console, with Bruce closely following. "Have you seen the news?"  
  
Bruce stepped quickly, stopped a foot away from the now-seated Alfred. "No, what is it?"  
  
Alfred punched a few buttons on the keyboard, and soon all eight screens had different news channels on them. CNN. Fox News. ABC. NBC. CBS. MSNBC. CNN Headline News. Gotham News Network. All the screens told the same story, though.  
  
Bruce was quiet for a long time.  
  
After 5 minutes, he walked deep into the cave. Alfred watched him walk away, but left him alone. A minute later he heard a loud cry. Hundreds of bats began to screech frantically.  
  
Alfred looked back up at the screen. He rested his head in his hands and began to cry.  
  
  
  
Downtown Central City. September 11, 2001. 9:47 AM.  
  
"Dammit Lisa, get this fixed!"  
  
Jessica Chambers rushed around the QuickStart office building frantically. Her assistant, Lisa Hallsworth, tried her best to keep up with her employer. That would be easy for her if her employer was any normal person. However, whenever Jessica Chambers speaks the formula 3X2(9YZ)4A, she enables herself to move at superspeed. At the moment, Ms. Chambers is moving at just under the speed of sound, so as not to shatter the windows of her entire office building.  
  
Why is she in such a hurry?  
  
"They're working on it, Ms. Chambers, honestly. Try to relax."  
  
Jesse stopped in front of her new assistant. "Relax? RELAX? HOW can I relax when both the power AND the phone lines are out in the ENTIRE BUILDING? How can a multi-million dollar corporation run without any power or phones for over 2 HOURS? Tell me that, Lisa! Tell me that!"  
  
Ms. Hallsworth stepped back from the blond-haired woman who was getting in her face. "You can relax because the finest technicians in this city are working on getting the building back up and running. You can relax because the sunlight is keeping the building well-lit thanks to your decision to make the entire building windowed from top to bottom. And lastly, you can relax because you're scaring the hell out of me right now. I understand you're worried, but don't be. They're fixing things. RELAX."  
  
Jesse's expression loosened. Her shoulders slumped slightly as she let down her guard. She sighed heavily as she sat back in a nearby chair. "You're right, Lisa. I'm sorry. Thank you."  
  
Ms. Hallsworth smiled and turned to go. "If you'll not be needing me right now, I'm going to go check on the status of the electrical work."  
  
Jesse smiled weakly. "That'd be fine, Lisa. Thanks."  
  
A few minutes later, Lisa returned from downstairs. "Good news, Ms. Chambers. The electrician said that the power and phones should be back up any minute now. They've isolated the problem and are fixing it now."  
  
Jesse sat forward in her chair. She put her briefcase on her lap and snapped it open, pulling out a small date book. She opened the book and looked at what she had written there. "Alright, I've got a meeting at 10 with the board of directors from GothTech to discuss the licensing of QuickStart technology in GothTech products. I'm having lunch with Wally in Paris at noon, and from there the day's open."  
  
Suddenly the lights flickered and came to life. Phones beeped, and no sooner had they beeped than did they start ringing off the hook. Lisa Hallsworth took her place at her desk, answering the phones as quickly as she could, putting people on hold and determining which calls were the more important than others. Jesse sat behind her desk in her office, and as she sat she heard Lisa's voice from the phone on her desk. "Ms. Chambers, I've got Wally West on line 3."  
  
"Thank you, Lisa."  
  
Jesse picked up the phone and put it to her ear. "Hi Wally."  
  
The fastest man alive was speaking at superspeed. "OhmygodJessareyoualright?"  
  
Jesse chuckled. "I'm fine, what's up?"  
  
"You haven't heard?"  
  
"Heard what?"  
  
"Turn on a TV!"  
  
"I don't have a TV in my office, Wally, you know that."  
  
"Then put on your radio, just put on the news somehow!"  
  
Jesse turned around in her chair and flipped a switch on a radio on the table behind her desk. She listened.  
  
From the other end of the line, Wally heard Jesse drop the phone.  
  
  
  
Gotham City. September 11, 2001. 8:34 AM.  
  
"Wally? This is Oracle. I've got a report of a hostage situation at Keystone's First National Branch, you wanna go take care of that? Suspect's name is Jonathan Birchfield. That's great, Thanks Wally. Oracle out. Connect: Dinah. How're things in Cancun, Dinah?"  
  
Barbara Gordon spoke into her headset with a smile. Seven hundred miles away, Dinah Lance struggled to speak through a gag. "Mmph mmm, mm hmm."  
  
Barbara chuckled. "That bad, huh? Look at it this way: at least it's sunny."  
  
A minute later, Barbara heard a gasp of air. Another few seconds later and the breathing was more relaxed. "Actually, Babs, it's overcast. I mean, from what I can see through the bars, it's overcast."  
  
Barbara smiled again. "Any idea where you are?"  
  
"I'm not sure. I got smacked on the back of the head late last night. I don't know who's got me or where I am. What's worse, they stripped my uniform off, so the tracker's gone. Sorry I'm not giving you much to work with."  
  
"Don't worry, I'll manage."  
  
Barbara turned to a blank computer screen next to her and punched the power button on. "Access: Oracle. Password: Wonderboy."  
  
A moment later and the computer was up and running. "Search for buildings in Cancun which have rooms with barred windows."  
  
From the other end, Dinah chuckled. "You're kidding me. You've got a directory of buildings. In Cancun. With rooms with barred windows. You've GOT to be kidding me."  
  
Barbara laughed aloud. "Dinah, can you see the sun right now?"  
  
"I could a few hours ago. I could see all of it. It was annoying, right in my eyes."  
  
Babs smiled. "Computer, search those findings for rooms with barred windows that face west."  
  
Dinah laughed again. "I don't believe this…you're bullshitting me, right?"  
  
Babs laughed. "Maybe, maybe not. Either way, I do know where you are now, though. How're you bound?"  
  
"Hemp. Easy enough to get out of. What should I do?"  
  
"Find out what Rico Suave wants. Do you mind sitting tight for a little while?"  
  
"Not at all. Did you say 'Rico Suave'?"  
  
"That's the guy's name. He had it legally changed. Be sure you laugh when he introduces himself. He loves that."  
  
Dinah laughed. "Thanks Babs."  
  
Barbara smiled. "Oracle out."  
  
Babs sat back in her chair.  
  
When Barbara Gordon was 16, she became fascinated with the urban legend known as The Batman. She trained in the martial arts and honed her detective skills. Eventually Barbara made herself a costume modeled after what the press thought The Batman's costume looked like. She took on the name Batgirl, and fought alongside the Dynamic Duo until she was 25, when she went into semi-retirement. Almost a year later she was shot and paralyzed by The Joker. Now crippled from the waist down, Barbara took to studying and gathering information. She is now known amongst the hero community as "Oracle," and is arguably the most well-connected information gatherer in the world.  
  
Barbara removed her headset and wheeled into the kitchen. She dumped out her cold cup of coffee and poured herself a new, fresh cup. She picked up a remote and pushed the play button. Soon Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture filled her apartment. After washing a few dishes and setting them out to dry, Babs went back into what she had dubbed "the main hub." She replaced her headset and noticed that her switchboard, which was hooked up to every main headquarters of every police department in America, was flashing with dozens of calls. She pushed one of the buttons and listened.  
  
"What? Crank call."  
  
She pushed another button and listened.  
  
"What is this, April Fool's Day?"  
  
She pushed yet another button and listened.  
  
Then another.  
  
Then another.  
  
Then another.  
  
Barbara began pushing her direct line to the Watchtower. "C'mon…."  
  
A minute later a still-groggy Nightwing came on the line. "Whuzizit Babs?"  
  
"DICK! Are you okay?"  
  
Dick Grayson yawned loudly. "I'm fine. What is this, a wake-up call?"  
  
Barbara was still frantic. "Oh God, Dick…there's been…an accident, I think. A horrible accident, just put on CNN."  
  
A moment later, Dick spoke again. His voice was weak. "Dear God…TIM! OLLIE!"  
  
Dick's voice disappeared, and a minute later Barbara could hear two new voices. Tim spoke up first. "What's going on, Dick? What the hell is THAT?"  
  
Dick didn't say anything, and Barbara heard another voice, Ollie's voice. "That's the World Trade Center, Tim."  
  
A few minutes later, Barbara could hear Dick and Tim shouting. "NO! NO, GOD NO!"  
  
Barbara's eyes widened. "What? What is it?"  
  
She could hear Dick consoling a crying Tim in the background. Ollie answered her. "There was another one. It was no accident, Oracle."  
  
He trailed off.  
  
"It was no accident…"  
  
  
  
Opal City. September 11, 2001. 9:02 AM.  
  
Jack Knight rubbed his temples and sighed. Business was slow. It was always slow this time of year, right before the Christmas rush. Jack knew that, and kept repeating it to himself every time he saw a potential customer keep on walking, right past his shop.  
  
A little over 3 months ago, Jack Knight, formerly the wielder of the cosmic rod and the hero known as Starman, had retired from the super-hero business. He'd passed on the rod and decided to spend more time with his son, Ted, and his pregnant girlfriend, Sadie. This was not before the heroic death of his father, the original Starman, Ted Knight. Jack never even got to say "I love you."  
  
Now Jack made his living running a collectible store called "Knights Past." The store carried everything from original photographs of the Justice Society of America from 1942 to Justice League trading cards.  
  
Jack leaned against the counter and began to doze off. His eyes were jerked open again by the sound of the bell above the door to the shop. A tall, blond man wearing jeans and a T-shirt walked into the shop and approached the counter. Jack smiled. "How's it going, Steve?"  
  
The man shrugged. "I hate this job, Jack. The people are stupid, the pay sucks. I feel so unfulfilled."  
  
Jack laughed. "I've not met many people that work in a video store and feel fulfilled."  
  
Steve shrugged. "You pull it off pretty well. Maybe it's the difference between a video store and an antique store."  
  
"Daddy, I'm hungry!"  
  
Jack's son, Ted, walked out from the back room of the shop and smiled at his father. Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple dollars. He gave them to his son. "Go on over to the video store with Steve and get something to eat."  
  
Steve eyed Jack, annoyed. "'Steve, would you take Teddy over to your store and get him something to eat?' 'Sure Jack, that'd be fine, no problem at all, thanks for asking me first.'"  
  
Jack laughed. "Thanks, Steve."  
  
The two left the store, and Jack was left alone again. He watched the two walk out of his view. 'Am I fulfilled?' he thought to himself. 'I've got a store that does fairly well, a wonderful girlfriend, a beautiful son and a baby girl on the way. Yeah, I'm pretty fulfilled.'  
  
A few minutes later, Steve and Ted came rushing back into the store. "Jack, do you have a radio or a TV or anything in here?"  
  
Jack looked around. "No, why?"  
  
His son ran to his side. "Daddy, what's going on?"  
  
"I don't know, buddy. What is it Steve?"  
  
Steve moved back towards the door. "Let's go back to the video store, there's a TV there. Come on!"  
  
Jack picked up his son and grabbed his keys. He flipped his open sign to closed, went out the door and locked it. They went into the video store, and Steve flipped on the TV. He switched the channel to the local news.  
  
Jack and his son both looked at the TV. The younger boy turned away and looked at his father. "Daddy, what's happening?"  
  
Jack held his son tightly.  
  
"JACK!"  
  
Jack, Ted, and Steve all turned to the door. A blond woman rushed into the store and to Jack. "Sadie…"  
  
Jack put his son down and put his arms around the pregnant woman. The young boy wrapped his arms around Jack's leg and held it tightly. Sadie began crying. "I came as fast as I could. The store was closed so I figured you'd come over here. I'm so scared, Jack. What's going to happen?"  
  
Jack hugged her tighter. "I don't know."  
  
"I'm glad I'm with you, Jack."  
  
"I'm glad I'm with you, Sadie. I love you."  
  
"I love you too, Jack."  
  
  
  
Utah. September 10, 2001. 3:45 PM.  
  
"NO!"  
  
Generally speaking, making The Spectre unhappy is not a good idea, unless you're ready to face his fury. This morning, though, the embodiment of God's wrath received some incredibly disturbing news from the angel, Zauriel. The two beings paced around The Spectre's Citadel.  
  
"Zauriel, I'm not speaking to you as The Spectre now. I'm speaking to you as Hal Jordan, a mortal man, and I'm TELLING you that THIS is NOT RIGHT!"  
  
"Don't you think I know that?" Zauriel snapped back at the former Green Lantern. "Don't you think that just KNOWING what's going to happen is making me SICK? And don't you think that the fact that I can't do ANYTHING about it is eating away at me?"  
  
Hal sighed. "I'm sorry to snap at you. This isn't your fault. It just doesn't make any sense to me. What's the point?"  
  
Zauriel shrugged. "I don't know. The Presence works in –"  
  
"Mysterious ways, I know. I've been getting that a lot lately."  
  
The two stayed quiet for a minute or two. Hal finally broke the silence. "Maybe you can help me on this, it's bugged me for a little while now. Why does a loving presence NEED me, the embodiment of God's Wrath?"  
  
Zauriel sat down on a window sill and looked out at the sun. "I've thought about that a lot, Hal. I think that the original purpose of The Spectre was to rehabilitate people that disobeyed God's will. However, God has learned from experience that, generally, the people that disobey His will won't change their ways if they're coddled. Sometimes the only way to get through to someone is to smack them around a little bit. So, over time, The Spectre's role was changed to that of a punisher as opposed to a healer.."  
  
Hal's expression turned back to rage. "Then WHY should I do NOTHING?!? I have to WATCH as thousands of people DIE. Shouldn't I be punishing those responsible?"  
  
"You're not doing anything because nothing has happened yet. It's the same reason you can't arrest a shoplifter before they've actually stolen something. And I know the impulse will be to get on those planes and stop those men, but you can't. Again, I'm just the messenger. I don't know why The Presence does what it does."  
  
Zauriel finished speaking and stood from his seat. Hal's fists unclenched slightly. "I hate this."  
  
"You and me both, Hal."  
  
The two of them remained silent for a little while. "You know," Zauriel began, "there's a saying you may have heard. I heard it during my brief time as a mortal man. It goes something like, 'You can't have the sweet without the sour, because without the sour, the sweet just isn't as sweet.' Maybe that will help ease your anger. I understand your frustration completely, Hal, believe me. I thought you should know before it happened."  
  
Hal sighed. "Have you told the Phantom Stranger yet?"  
  
Zauriel walked over to where Hal was standing. "No."  
  
"I'd like to, if that's okay."  
  
The angel smiled. "Of course. I actually need to be going, I've got some things to take care of, some people to look in on. You know, angel stuff."  
  
Hal shook Zauriel's hand. "Thank you, Zauriel."  
  
Zauriel turned and walked over to the window. "Don't worry about it, Hal. Everybody needs friends. Even the embodiment of God's Wrath."  
  
Hal chuckled as Zauriel flew off.  
  
  
  
Manchester, Alabama. September 11, 2001. 10:05 AM.  
  
A group of 17 high-schoolers sat, watching the television in the front of the room intently. An older woman sat in the back of the room, also watching the set. Some of the students held hands. Some of them prayed. Others cried. Still others put their heads down on their desks, not wanting to watch anymore. No matter what they were doing, they were silent.  
  
A knock at the door startled everyone. The older woman stood from her seat and walked over to the door. She cracked it and took a note from the younger girl standing outside. She closed the door and turned to the students, who were all now looking at her.  
  
"Bart. Your uncle's here."  
  
Bart Allen stood from his chair and gathered his things into his bag. He patted the back of the blond boy sitting next to him. "Don't worry, Preston. It'll be all right."  
  
He walked calmly out of the room. As he passed his teacher, she looked him in the eyes. "Are you going to be okay, Bart?"  
  
The young man glanced back at her. "Yeah, I'm fine Mrs. Thompson. Thanks."  
  
Bart made his way to the lobby in a hurry, walking quickly. He turned a corner and saw a taller man standing in the lobby. He took off running at normal human speed. As he ran, tears welled up in his eyes. He reached the lobby and embraced the larger man. "Max…"  
  
The white-haired man hugged Bart tightly. "I know, Bart. I know."  
  
  
  
Themyscera. September 12, 2001. 11:47 AM.  
  
"You see? You see what they do to each other? I warned you before..."  
  
Hippolyta turned from her daughter and returned to her throne. The queen of the Amazons had been surprised earlier that morning to see her daughter, Diana, returning to the Island of Themyscera. She was even more surprised to hear the reason that Diana had returned. Things had happened that forced Diana, known in the outer world as Wonder Woman, to reconsider her role in society, and she had come back to discuss this with her mother.  
  
"I know it looks that way, mother. Right now I'm having a hard time believing it actually happened. I don't understand how I can help them if they hear my words, then go and do something like this."  
  
"Diana," Hippolyta began, "when you first left Themyscera for Man's World, I was unsure of your ability to bare the evils that take place there. I saw them in my time as Wonder Woman, and I feared for your safety and your sanity. But in the 5 years since you left this island, I have seen you mature and grow, and your belief in the potential of the human race has never wavered as much as it has now."  
  
Diana lowered her head and looked at the ground. "I don't doubt them as a whole. But there are some of them that cause my blood to boil. These men knew they would die, and they knew they would take thousands with them, and yet they went ahead with it. I don't understand what could lead someone to do that."  
  
"I think you understand more than you'd care to admit," Hippolyta added. "From what you've said, it sounds like these men were religious fanatics. They were devoted to a cause, and they would give their lives for that cause. Is not the same thing true of you?"  
  
Diana answered quietly. "Yes."  
  
Her mother continued. "And that understanding scares you, doesn't it? It scares you, as it does me. The difference between you and them, though, is that you know right from wrong. They think they're right, but they're not. They blame everyone else for their problems and they lash out because they think that revenge is the correct path for them. You know better, though. You take what you're given and you make the most of it. You better yourself. Besides, you know what you're fighting and striving for, and you know that what you strive for is a noble end. Those men knew what they strove for as well, but not that the ends they worked for was evil. You needn't worry about turning into one of them, my daughter. I have faith in you that you will always do the right thing. You must have faith in yourself."  
  
"And what about Man's World?" Diana turned again to face her mother. "Should I return?"  
  
Hippolyta smiled. "What do you think?"  
  
Diana smiled back at the woman who had raised her. "Thank you, mother."  
  
The two women embraced, and Diana turned to leave.  
  
"Diana," Hippolyta stopped her. "It was…good to see you again."  
  
Diana smiled. "And you, mother."  
  
  
  
A place beyond time and space.  
  
"Stranger?"  
  
"I am here, Hal Jordan."  
  
"The angel Zauriel came to see me. He told me –"  
  
"I know."  
  
"You know?"  
  
"I know."  
  
"How do you –"  
  
"I know."  
  
"Well?"  
  
"There is nothing we can do."  
  
"…"  
  
"How can you be so callous, Stranger? How? This is eating me up! You were human once, y'know…are you that far gone?"  
  
"Fine."  
  
"…"  
  
"Fine."  
  
  
  
New York City. September 12, 2001. 3:48 AM.  
  
Two tall towers. Isolated. Alone.  
  
A plane flies low. About to collide with the towers.  
  
A giant green hand appears. It grabs the plane and sets it down safely.  
  
Another plane approaches.  
  
That same hand appears. It grabs the plane and sets it down safely.  
  
A 5-sided building.  
  
A jet plummets down.  
  
A giant green pillow appears. The plane lands on the pillow. No one is hurt.  
  
A green field.  
  
Another plane falls.  
  
A green parachute appears on the plane. It lands gently.  
  
Kyle Rayner dreams. He dreams of outcomes that could have been. He dreams because he did nothing. He was dreaming when it happened. He dreams because it keeps his mind off of what really happened. He dreams because it is all he can do at 4 in the morning. He has spent the day working. He will spend the next day working. For now, though…  
  
Kyle Rayner dreams.  
  
  
  
Ground Zero. September 11, 2001. 10:39 AM.  
  
Superman.  
  
To people all over the world, Superman represents all that is right about humanity. He has been called "the ultimate immigrant," "the world's biggest boy scout," and "the man of tomorrow." Most people figure that Superman can do anything.  
  
Right now, though, the Man of Steel has never felt so helpless.  
  
In his mind, it does not matter where he was when it happened. What he was doing. Who he was with. Who he was helping. How many lives he saved.  
  
In his mind, he should have BEEN THERE. He should have STOPPED it.  
  
In his mind, it is his fault.  
  
As soon as he heard, he flew to the scene at speeds he had never known before. He arrived just a few minutes after the last tower fell. Anyone can see from the look on his face that he's beating himself up for not having arrived sooner. For not saving more. At this point, though, Superman isn't thinking about the number of people he saved or didn't save.  
  
He's thinking about the number of people he CAN save.  
  
Since arriving on the scene, Superman has been aiding the firefighters and policemen in digging out any survivors. His super-hearing alone has saved at least a dozen people, and his physical strength has been integral in saving nearly a dozen more.  
  
A few of the other workers have noticed something about the Man of Steel, though. Understandably, he's shaken. He's on edge. And with every new casualty he discovers, they can see him break down just a little bit more. They can feel it. Any minute, Superman is going to snap.  
  
They're not blaming him. He's just a man like any other of them. A man can only take so much.  
  
Either way, the last son of Krypton continues working. With x-ray eyes he peers through a pile of rubble and sees a frail hand. He digs furiously, tossing effortlessly what would take 10 men to move. He finally reaches the hand. He touches it. It's still warm. He feels it move in his hand. He lets it go for a moment and removes the large pieces of rubble which lay on the body that the hand belongs to. Underneath Superman sees a small boy, probably five years old. The child gazes up at the Metropolis Marvel. He moves his head weakly and tries to speak. "Shhh…don't try to talk."  
  
Superman runs over the boy's body with his x-ray vision. A clean break in the boy's left arm and a compound fracture in his right leg. A miracle. Superman smiles weakly at the boy. "You'll be alright. What's your name?"  
  
Through a cough the boy responds. "Joel. My mommy and daddy…"  
  
The Man of Steel looks to the left of the little boy and sees Joel's right hand clutching another, larger hand. "No…"  
  
He didn't need x-ray vision to know what was under the pile of debris next to little Joel.  
  
Superman picked up the little boy and walked him over to one of the firemen. "Excuse me, sir. There are two more adults, a man and a woman, over where I just walked from."  
  
He handed Joel to the fireman. "Be strong, Joel."  
  
Superman looked back over at the firefighter. "If you'll excuse me for a moment."  
  
The Man of Steel turned from the two. He took 4 steps before falling to his knees. He cradled his face in his hands.  
  
Superman cried. Uncontrollably, he cried. He cried with the sorrow and the rage of a man who could juggle planets. He cried because Superman IS just a man. No man is unaffected by a tragedy of this magnitude. Not even a superman.  
  
He wipes his eyes with invulnerable hands, and the tears continue to come.  
  
A large, gloved hand touches Superman's shoulder. He hears bulky footsteps around him. He glances up. Firemen surround him in support. They share in his grief. They cry with him, remembering those that have died on this place. This hollowed ground.  
  
Another, smaller hand is placed on his back. He feels a small body wrap its arms around his huge, kneeling frame. "It's okay, Superman. Don't be sad."  
  
He wraps his right arm around the small boy. The child continued. "You said to be strong. I will, Superman. For both me and you."  
  
Superman released his embrace of the small boy and looked him in the face through red, puffy eyes. "Thank you, Joel. Thank you."  
  
The boy wrapped his arms around the large man's neck. Superman began to stand. He felt 5 or 6 gloved hands take his arms and bring him to his feet. The man of steel held Joel in one arm as he looked at the group of firefighters and policemen around him. A tense silence followed. He wiped his eyes. "Thank you. All of you."  
  
A green bubble appeared in the sky overhead. It landed gently and dissolved upon touching the ground. A group of 40 or so heroes spread out from where the bubble once was. The Justice League. The Titans. Young Justice. The Justice Society. They spread in all directions.  
  
A few of the workers around Superman shifted in their places. One of them next to him breathed out heavily. "Wow."  
  
Joel looked on in amazement. "Are they here to help, too?"  
  
Superman smiled. "Yes, Joel. They're here to help."  
  
"We all are."  
  
Written by Joe Grunenwald. January 30, 2002. 


End file.
